We once owned this place.

    A little while ago, once upon a time, this was ours.

    Don’t lean on the railings.

    Always walk on the pathway.

    Walk in two’s.

    Don’t tie your cardigan around your waist.

    Comport yourselves… Be comily.


    This was once us. It was our’s. We owned it.

    Today, I stood on the topmost floor and leaned against the railing, in the way that would have gotten me in trouble, when I used to do it three years ago, and although it was all so familiar, there was something unfamiliar about it, and I just realised what. 

    You weren’t there, the 91 of you, I made us 92 and I was the only one there at that point, I walked the length and breadth, only recognising adults, barely a familiar face among the students and that was a sure sign that my time– our time, is past.

    Six years.

    We spent 6 years in hell, in our own heaven. However you wish to put it.

    6 years of torture and fun, walking back and forth the Green Gates, wearing cream and green for the length of time. We made friends, acquaintances, enemies, frenemies. We made memories. We made history.

    I hold on to my memories. Memories good, memories bad. Memories of us, of us all: crying, laughing, screaming, shrieking, singing, dancing, fan-girling; in pain, in happiness, in sadness, in joy. The good, the bad and the down- right ugly.

    I’m filled with nostalgia every time I see the Green Gates. It is no longer our kingdom, we might as well be outsiders, but this is where we were made. We made memories here; we made history here.


    A/N: I was forced to go to my Alma Mater last week and it was just so… surreal, to say the least. Am i the only one filled with nostalgia for my secondary school or is this meant to happen? 

    I dont really have much to say right now, anywho… 

    🍔Cheeseburger out


    DREAM #1

    So, I’ve been having funky dreams lately and I felt like I should share this one with you guys. Make what you will of it if you please.

    In my dream, there was a set date for when rapture would happen, and it was very near, in about 3 days DreamTime. When I found out about the date, some people told me not to bother my head, after all there had been several rumours like that before, some people said the world was going to end in 2012, some others said same about 2015, we are now in 2016, so … Go figure. Despite all the assurances by people around me I was still scared, this caused me to call together a group of friends, and we began to prepare for the set date.

    The supposed day of rapture came and it was like nothing was happening. Myself and my other prepared friends then began to walk. 

    To where? 

    My dream self didn’t know, we were just walking.

    At some point, we got to a highway that I am very familiar with in real life and as we were walking, I remembered the ‘Left Behind’ novels I used to read when I was younger, in the novel series when rapture happened, people suddenly vanished leaving behind the clothes and all other accessories they had on them, and I wondered how it would have been for the people who vanished, as I was thinking this through, my friends told me that we had to cross the highway. It was a very busy road and cars were vrooming off in every direction by the second. Instead of following the typical rule of road crossing: “Look left, look right, look left again” We simply began to walk across the road, causing motorists to stop abruptly once we got in their way.

    Upon getting to the other end, I realised that the highway was suddenly empty, all the cars were gone. I looked back to see a few people walking on the now desolate highway, in the same direction me and my friends were going. Looking forward again, a huge bridge had surfaced upon the highway out of nowhere and ahead of it was a window in the sky. When we got to the bridge, we saw that beyond it was a great building. It was BIG.




    The use of these adjectives doesn’t begin to describe the vastness of the palace/mansion. And as I beheld it a voice  in my head said: 

    Jesus wasn’t kidding when he said “I’ll go and prepare a place for you” or “in my father’s house there are many mansions”

    My mum came to wake me up around that point and my dream pretty much ended. I woke up in cold sweat that morning, I was in a temporary haze of fear and shock and sobreity, all that was playing on my mind was the dream and I kept on asking myself what would have happened if Jesus had come that morning. 

    I really don’t know what to make of this dream, a rational person might probably say that such a dream was probably as a result of my overactive imagination mixed with all the works of fiction I expose myself to. I don’t know.

    But here is what I can conclude on with this dream: Heaven is a prepared place for a prepared people. 

    How prepared am I? Should be the question we ask ourselves every day, because unlike in my dream, there is not set date for rapture, he said he would come as a thief in the night and as I write this my prayer for every single one of us is that when the time comes none of us will be found wanting.

    A/N: Just felt like sharing this with y’all. Lets all strive to make heaven our aim and God will help us all. Amen

    To everyone who took time out to read,share and comment on my last post… Thank you, God bless you. 

    Smoochie 😘

    🍔 Cheeseburger out.



    She outgrew me.

    Like one might outgrow a toy, like the way I recently outgrew Spongebob.

    She outgrew me, like a child would outgrow his toddler clothes. She wanted to be a babe, to hang out with the cool girls. She cut her hair low and went to live with them on the school compound; she was still pretty despite the hair cut, boys always flocked around her; she dazzled them with her smile, despite the fact that she’d recently gotten railway tracks on her teeth, I think she thought they added to her coolness. I don’t know. 

    She was interested in tight-fitted clothes, her figure was developing; she was more invested in make-up and cool boys, she was now part of the in-crowd. He asked her out and she said yes, she was his girlfriend, they were now dating; stealing kisses at the back of the class and in other secluded areas.

    I blanched, but not out of fear, probably shock.

    My first kiss was still a mere fantasy, still is in fact, I think about it mostly when I’m reading novels. I wasn’t invested in dating, I didn’t have a boyfriend, just several crushes; to be part of the cool kids – the in-crowd , was over-rated to me, I felt it was pointless. 

    I didn’t do make-up, lip gloss irritated me, all yucky and sticky and gooey; I didnt slim-fit my clothes, despite the fact that it could take someone who was two times my size, my gown was long and big, but I didn’t care so long it was neat and well pressed; I didn’t care much about my figure, I was tall and skinny, lanky in one word and I wasn’t bothered; I didn’t care if boys thought I was pretty or not, I never even gave thought to the matter. Besides, the boys around me were still stupid and immature at that point.

    I wasn’t interested in being a babe, I was interested in cooler things like watching Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon, reading modern classics like Harry Potter, Percy Jackson and Twilight, going on Facebook and learning to use social media.

    It isn’t a mystery she outgrew me huh?

    It started out small. She’d wait for me to say hi before she did, she wouldn’t meet my eyes if we met on the corridor, she stopped completely to seek me out, she didn’t talk to me about the guys she fancied anymore, she wouldn’t even wait for me on the stairs, and if I called out to her she’d walk faster and pretend she didn’t hear me. The last time she did that I followed her to the bottom of the stairs, when I got to her she gave me this stupid playful smile, braces shining in the sun, like it was all a silly joke.

    That was when I officially gave up on her. I stopped completely. I wouldn’t meet her eyes on the corridor, I didn’t bother to say hi, I stopped to seek her out, I didn’t even bother myself when I saw her on the stairs, I just ignored her and kept walking. She was dead to me at that point.

    She made new friends and so did I. She had a new clique with the cool girls, me, I made friends who turned out to be sisters in the end. We were all crazy and naughty misfits, we made a mockery of the stupid status quo, we couldn’t care less if they thought we were cool or not, it wasn’t as if we were out to impress anyone, we didn’t even want them to think we were cool. We were AWESOME and we knew it. We laughed at them when they tried to be cool in our faces, we mimicked and mocked them and we laughed because they mostly seemed like a group of phonies.

    As the years passed, me and her fell apart completely. I disliked her at some point, but I got over it… I think. We stopped to relate completely, leaving it to the occasional Hi and Hello, which was mostly done for courtsey’s sake. I think about her sometimes and I think: 

    This used to be my best friend.

    She outgrew me, but I didnt. I never outgrew her, I let her go.


    A/N: Share this post if you have that one friend that you were once close to, but fell apart with completely. I love my friends, I hate fighting with them and I hate losing them even more, but life happens.


    I haven’t posted anything in a while so I felt that I should drop this, I’d like to receive feedback from you guys, don’t be scared to comment, you can put an anonymous name if you want, I just want to hear from my wonderful readers. 

    Tata for now.

    Yours Truly,

    🍔 Cheeseburger



    I saw this picture and was like: oh God! So true. I’ve read about many people who started writing and only their family members or very close friends knew and they didn’t let more people know because they were scared of external criticisms or they were scared of being judged, or being told they weren’t good enough, or they were too shy to show people what they could do. There are some writers who have enough self-confidence and can show off their works to anybody at any time. There are so many different stories of different writers or would-be writers that I’ve been oppurtune to see, to read and to understand. So I also want to share my story.

    I’ve always had a passion for stories and story telling. In fact, you can’t ask me a question and expect me to give you a straight answer, I have to tell you the story, that’s just me. I vividly remember my last year of primary school when myself and my seat-partners made up this story of humans with the ability to turn to animals and titled it Transformation-Ex, it was so cool at the time and we wanted to put our awesome idea on paper; the project was never fully executed, we started and stopped many times till we just forgot it, but if you ever ask for my earliest memory as a writer, that’s it.                                                    

    I started secondary school and there came a time when I got myself a book and put any story-worthy idea in it, one day I left my book about carelessly and someone picked it up and read it, then the person came to me and asked: “Did you write this? All by yourself?” I answered yes. “Wow, it’s really nice” she said. Her reaction to what she just read had other people asking to read it also, probably so they could pass off judgement on it too or maybe just to see what was so nice about it; you never really know with human beings.

    I wrote many drafts and manuscripts after that I never really told anyone about, I just wrote for me, not for anyone else.

    I see my write-ups as a piece of me, a part of my soul and being, and the reason why I never gave my work to anyone was simply because it was too private. I can’t sit with you or watch you as you read or analyse or assess anything I’ve done, it makes me feel naked, it’s like you have been given an all-access ticket into my being, and you are seeing me in my most raw form. This sometimes makes it difficult for me to share my art with others.

    I believe that what makes a write-up- or any piece of art- excellent is the place its coming from. Pieces of work that come straight from the heart, pure and undiluted are usually the best. So each time I write I give off a piece of me, a part of my soul, I let you in to my being, and give you a chance to see things from my point of view and that, for me is to be stripped bare.

    A/N: BAM! I did it again. 

    So this piece was a little more close to my soul than most, and I don’t really have anything to write in my author’s note today, asides a piece of advice for you beautiful people out there which is that you endeavour to find your God-given talent and use it.

    ✌ Peace Yo!

    🍔 Cheeseburger out.



    I don’t want you to see me cry. I don’t want you to have that satisfaction, I don’t want you to see my humane side; I’m scared you will take advantage of it. I dont want to admit to myself how much power you have over me, much less for you to know about it. I don’t want you to know how truly emotional I am.

    Laugh it off. Don’t let it get to you, if it does- dont let it bug you, if it does- don’t let them know how much it bugs you. Free yourself from any emotion- thats my slogan. ‘It doesn’t matter, they don’t matter’- that’s my mantra, when the pin-prick of tears begin to sting my eyes.

    There are different shades of anger. For me, there’s the part when you are really and truly annoyed, then there’s pissed- completely and totally pissed. There’s mad also- downright mad then after all these comes angry. No matter how bad the situation, I try my best not to get angry.

    Why? You ask.

    Well, sometime around the puberty years, I had this emotional rewiring which connected my tear ducts to wherever the anger comes from. So you have never seen me truly angry until you’ve seen me cry. What then is the point of anger? ‘Bottle it up, it doesn’t matter, don’t be angry. Lock it up, it’ll do you no good, they’ll see you cry.’ Another mantra. You can’t see me cry, you don’t deserve to.

    But it doesn’t always work out. The mantras fail, the slogan is ineffective against my pent-up raging emotions, and like Pandora’s box, the lid goes off and they all come flying out and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

    So when I cry and you ask why, I’ll tell you nothing. “Its nothing” Because the rational part of me keeps telling me that this isn’t worth tears, its nothing to cry about so it’s nothing. Nothing to you at least, but to me its something. Something that causes my heart ache, and hurt to my soul and I can’t take it anymore, so I cry. And even if/when I explain, do you truly understand?
    Will you understand me when I cry?


    A/N: I hate being emotional.             Sometimes, i wish I was a log of wood. Unfeeling. With no emotions AT ALL. No hurt, no pain, no sadness, in fact no love also. Sometimes everything seems so unbearable, not because they are, but because of how overwhelmed you are by  your emotions. But, oh-well there’s a no refund emotion policy, once you got it, you got it. No take backs. So make what you will of it. Yes, this is me psyching myself up BTW. On a final note, I’d like to add: Although I hate to cry, everything always feels better after a good cry.

    So the song playing in my head right now is Big Girls Cry by Sia, cos🎶…big girls cry when their hearts are breaking.

    And I’d also like to say an enormous thank you, to everyone who took time out to read my last post, the words of encouragement and support… Sigh. No words. Just thank you very much.


    🍔 Cheeseburger out.


    RANDOM #1

    Beads of perspiration rolled down my forehead. Huge rolls of wetness travelled down from the nape of my neck tickling my back.
    I looked up; heads bent with pens dancing over the booklets on their desks, my mates wrote onto their examination scripts.

    Maria, you can do this.

    I told myself, and looked down at the question paper all over again

    Question 1. Elucidate critically the balance of power system.

    I knew this question, I’d read the topic over and again, I’d even read it on my way to the examination hall!

    Think Maria, think. You know this

    I pressed the index and middle fingers of both hands against my temple, I was beginning to have a headache.

    “1 hour left” an invigilator called out from only God knows where.

    Oh God!

     I began to panic, I wouldn’t be able to write enough in less than an hour’s time, suddenly fear held my chest in an icy grip and began to squeeze. I couldn’t breathe well. Soon enough my breath started coming in short gasps.

    Oh God, no! Please not now.

    I thought to myself as I realised what was happening.

    My heart was hammering against my chest, my head was banging against my skull, my breathing became more laboured by the minute, my eyes were spinning with patches of white dancing at the edges of my vision, I also realised sadly that I was drenched all-over with perspiration. 

    The last thought that passed through my mind as I slid off my desk onto the cool marble floor wasn’t even the telephone call I’d received right before I came into the examination hall, which had caused me to be a nervous wreck. No, it was the fact that I’d not just had a panic attack in school, but I’d also managed successfully to pass out too.

    Look on the bright side,  a voice in my subconscious said, you’ll be allowed to re-sit the paper this way.


    A/N: Hey guys! Its been awhile, this idea just struck me and I decided to share. What do you think about it? Im open to ideas, comments, suggestions and criticism. If/when next I am to update this particular piece, I’ll name the article Random #1.1, so look out for it! If you don’t see it that means I’ve probably put this idea in the recycle bin in my head.

    So lemme educate you guys on my style of posting stuff so that you don’t get lost. Any random idea that I get and feel like sharing with you guys will have the heading: Random, so my next random idea will be Random 2 and the one after that Random 3, it could be a poem that I haven’t got a title for yet or a prose, in the event that Im to continue the random prose idea the continuations will be named -using Random 1 for instance, other continuations will be Random 1.1, Random 1.2, Random 1.3 etc. The thing about random ideas is that they have low possibility of continuation. If I’m to share a story that doesn’t have a title yet, the heading is gonna be #EXP 1, other continuations of that story will be #EXP 1.1, #EXP 1.2 and so on. #EXP stories are stories that I plan on updating often.

    Hope you’re not too confused, thanks for giving me your time.

    🍔 Cheeseburger out.